


do you know what lightning tastes like?

by She_speakss



Category: The Bold Type
Genre: Angst, F/F, but also sex stuff, im so sorry for whatever this is, is v angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25200850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/She_speakss/pseuds/She_speakss
Summary: And you ask her if she knows what lightening tastes like. Whisper it in her ear like a promise. Like you are the lightening raging and crackling against her skin. Pent and aching, aching, aching.And she whispers back that she knows what you taste like, “yes, yes. I have tasted the lightening before and after it strikes.”or, jane and jacqueline and a difficult conversation in a car at three in the morning. ian and jacqueline are giving the marriage another go and where does that leave jane?
Relationships: Jacqueline Carlyle & Jane Sloan, Jacqueline Carlyle/Jane Sloan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	do you know what lightning tastes like?

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i hope you enjoy my first written piece for janequeline, im still figuring out their voices but i loved writing for them and can't wait to write more!
> 
> all mistakes are my own

And you ask her if she knows what lightening tastes like. Whisper it in her ear like a promise. Like you are the lightening raging and crackling against her skin.

Pent and aching, aching, aching.

And she whispers back that she knows what you taste like, “yes, yes. I have tasted the lightening before and after it strikes.”

_____________________

This was a mistake you think. Driving out to a park in butt-fuck nowhere with Jane Sloane was a mistake. Telling her Ian and you are giving the marriage another run, sans openness when she looks so, _so_ pretty in the quiet night was easily top 5 hardest moments of your life. The lights from the gas station across the way making the soft rain dance on her face like your lips did minutes ago.

You tell yourself to stop staring, which is impossible when she’s staring right back at you, soft eyes and even softer mouth. Your heart stops, you swear, when she bites her lip and lowers her gaze to your own soft, swollen mouth. ‘Jesus Christ,’ you think. ‘oh God, Oh God.’

You never meant for this to happen. The heart stuff that is. The feeling like you can’t breathe when she looks at you. Like you can only breathe when she’s smiling at you. The physical stuff yes, you definitely meant for that to happen, and you cared for the young women of course, deeply, loved her even. But you didn’t mean to fall in love with here.

But you did. You are. Fuck.

You lowered your head to rest on the steering wheel (because you have got to stop staring) but you still feel her eyes on you and you see her fingers twitch out of the corner of your eye. The bottom of your tummy clenches.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight. Make yourself focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. Because it’s three o’clock in the morning and you are running out of time and you never meant for this to happen, except that you maybe did and okay that’s a story for another day, when denial and acceptance and love is on the table and oh, no.

Jane has reached over the console and is running her fingers through your hair and you’re sighing and leaning into it. She’s starting to get anxious; you know she is because she’s pulling your hair from the roots and she’s getting a wee bit aggressive. (not that you mind, you very much do not mind.) And suddenly, your shirt is being pulled up and your seat flips back and you’re staring at the roof of your car as her weight settles across your hips while she’s tugging at the waist band of your pants.

“Jane.” You call, because you are supposed to be talking except you haven’t done any talking. You moan as she nips at your belly button then gasp as her knee slips between yours and nudges your centre. “Jane.” You try again.

“No,” she interrupts you. “No.” her voice is course like she’s swallowed chalk. You flinch when big, fat tears drop from the tip of her chin and lands just under your bra. Her chest is heaving and her eyes are wide, wild. The butterflies in your stomach go crazy. You want to throw up.

“You don’t get to do this,” her wide, wide eyes the colour of soil pulls you in. “You don’t get to just switch this off like this is nothing. Like we are nothing.” She’s the one staring now, trembling like a wee earthquake, which she is. Warm and solid.

You place your hands above her hips in the hopes of calming her, “Jane, Jane, Jane,” you whisper. Your fingers flit upwards, manicure nails softly, softly catching on the fabric of her singlet. Your eyes are anchored on her chin because you are a coward and you refuse to look Jane in the eye, but she knows you and you feel her shuffle forward until her centre is pressed tight against you and her hand that had been in your hair drops to your chest. Middle finger settling in the hollow of your throat and you think, ‘yes, yes Jane, this is the space I carry you.’

Your mouth opens, though you don’t know what to say, to try again maybe but as soon as your mouth opens the finger ion the hollow of your throat presses slightly. Not to hurt you, of course not, but enough to make you stop thinking.

You _think_ your brain has snapped; you _know_ the butterflies have moved further south.

“I know there were rules, when this first started in Paris,” Jane's voice is soft, floaty. “And obviously we weren’t very good at following most of them, because I don’t think I can let you go.” Her mouth has replaced her finger and yes, your brain has definitely snapped. “I don’t want to let you go Jacqueline.” Jane is nipping at your throat and you know she means to mark. “and I don’t think that’s really what you want either.” Her hands are everywhere now, holding your face, tracing the freckles on your arms, stroking your back and dancing across your nipples.

Jane is everywhere and everything and this is the craziest, freest moment of your life and you don’t every want it to stop. “Jane, please-“

“Shh,” her plump lips are pursed and one of her hands is back at your throat, only this time it’s wrapped around it. “I’m not finished.”

You bite your lip and look at her, allowing her hand to stay where it is, you know you could remover yourself from under her in five seconds flat, you both know it. You don’t of course, because you’re soaked between your legs like you only ever get with Jane and you both know it.

You let out a deep breath and nod once. “Okay.” You whisper and the thickness in your voice has nothing to do with the pressure of Jane’s hand and everything to do with the position of Jane’s hands.

Her free one walking down your stomach to dip under the waistband of your pyjama pants. Down, down, down until one of her fingers slides into your cunt. The whole world stops. Or it doesn’t, you wouldn’t notice either way.

“I see you Jacqueline, I have always seen you,” you gasp as her finger pulls out and cry out when she adds another and enters you fully. Softly, softly, her eyes locked on yours the entire time. Like she’s daring you to look away. You shudder and whimper when her knuckle brushes your clit. “I know how sexy you look reading next to the fire in your pyjamas, glasses sliding down your nose. I see how soft you look in the morning sun, I see how beautiful you rage when you’re fighting for those who have been wronged.”

You outright cry when the fingers inside you speed up, even though the hand at your throat hasn’t flinched. “I know what your heart looks like Jacqueline.” The tears are falling from your own eyes now, full, thick, your crying and floating and you think you hear yourself whine. Jane leans closer to your face, stares you right in the eyes, noses touching. Her tongue pokes out to flick at your top lip and your hips stutter. “I know,” she breathes, “that I can fit my entire fist inside you and you will beg me for more.”

The gush between your legs is heard before it’s felt and you blush something fierce at the squelching noises coming from you but your hips canter faster. And you’re _groaning_ again because nobody, nobody has ever reduced you to this non-verbal, primal mess before. Especially not with two lone fingers and a sharp tongue.

How in the hell, are you ever supposed to go back to a marriage that you know died a lifetime ago? The problem isn’t that without Jane, you couldn’t live. You would survive, your heart might not, and it might take another lifetime to heal from her, but you could. The problem is that you don’t want to live without her.

You pant as she licks you from the neck up to your ear. Jane's hand has released your throat and now she’s cupping your chin. One of her thumbs is tracing your chin while the other traces your clit. “Look at me Jacqueline.” She says trying to bring you back. Her voice has lost the lusty edge, though still sinfully full. She’s back to being thick with swallowed emotion. “I know how close you are right now, but I need you to look at me-,” you hadn’t even noticed you’d closed your eyes.

They shift open and your breathing halts. Jane is crying again and she looks so, so pretty in the fading moon light. The sun is rising and you’re running out of time and yo-

The hand inside of you stops for a single stroke, “I love you.” Whispers Jane. Her hand continues and you cry out as her forefinger presses up against your spongey spot and her thumb presses down on your clit and the world has definitely stopped this time and you’re falling apart and you think you hear someone screaming but you can’t be sure because your skin is on fire and you’re burning from the inside out. Being put back together from the ashes only to fall, burn apart once again. Over and over you’re falling and falling and-

You must have passed out because the next time you open your eyes the sun is halfway up and Jane is back in her seat but she’s leaning over your legs, using her cardigan to clean something off the floor. You lift your head to see what, only to drop it and groan in embarrassment when you realize what it is.

Jane is using her cardigan to clean _you_ off the floor of your car. You shift uncomfortably when you finally notice your damp pyjama pants sticking to your thighs. You’ve only ever been able to achieve _that_ level of completion twice before, both times of course, with the brunette next to you. She straightens in her seat beside you and you hear her sniffling. You try to catch her eyes but now she’s the one to hide from you.

“I won’t make you choose.” She still doesn’t look at you. “I won’t make you choose between two years of us and 20 years worth of marriage.” She’s looking at you. _Fi_ _nally_ you think. “But I refuse to be the other woman. And I don’t want this to be over. Because I’m not finished loving you.”

She’s looking at you and the heartache visible in her eyes almost makes you tell her to look away. “I love dancing with you on rooftops, and dark rooms and quiet spaces, but I still don’t know what it feels like to dance with you at a party,” she shakily reaches a hand out to run a finger down your nose. “I don’t know what it feels like to pass you in the halls at an event or at lunch and brush a hand down your arm just because.”

She’s leaning away from you now, pulled herself away from you. “There is so much you have given me in the last few years and I would never ask for more than you are willing to give. But there is still so much more that I want to do with you.” She’s floating further and further away-

“Dance with me here.”

“Jacqueli-;”

“Please,” you reach out for her. “Dance with me now. In the day break. In this new sun, dance with me.” She laughs softly and shakes her head.

“Okay.” She’s tearful, and breathless and looks at you like you made the sun rise in the first place.

You race to get out of the car and run to meet her on the other side. You are closer to her height now, both of you barefoot in the grass. The morning dew clings to your feet. She’s standing in front of you in her short shorts and thin singlet and you can’t imagine ever letting her go. Your hand goes out to her and she slowly puts her own in it.

There’s no music, but out here in the middle of nowhere out of the city the birds and the morning bugs are enough. Her head lands on your shoulder as you sway, and you wrap your arms around her tight when you feel her shoulders shake.

She tucks her face into your neck, kisses you there once before her arms start to lower and she pushes away. And you can’t breathe with the panic of letting her go.

“My heart will always be yours Jacqueline, and I know it’s against the rules, but I love you with everything that I am.” You reach out once more and sob when she steps back out of reach. “I’m right here Jac, come find me when you’re ready.”

She turns and walks away towards the gas station and you can’t reach her anymore. 

________________________

And you ask her if she knows what lightening tastes like. Whisper it in her ear like a promise. Like you are the lightening raging and crackling against her skin.

Pent and aching, aching, aching.

And she whispers back that she knows what you taste like, “yes, yes. I have tasted the lightening before and after it strikes.”

Which is to say, that you are the lightning and she is the earth and you were only even meant to meet in passing.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading. this is the first time i have hung out and written with our lovely ladies and i think im still trying to find their voices. please tell me what you thought, and how you felt about this but please be gentle with me am fragile. xx


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